


A Box of Precious Things (Before the Hurricane Strikes)

by Lady_Vibeke



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Barry Allen is a Softie, Emotional Baggage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Polyamory Implied, F/M, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Heart-to-Heart, Idiots in Love, Leonard Snart Lives, M/M, Multi, OT3, Protective Leonard Snart, Snart Siblings feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21513052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: "You deceived me all along, Snart."Leonard scowls. Barry feels him tense. "What?""You sell yourself as a heartless jerk, but you do have a heart. A pretty big one, too.” Barry shrugs with a coy smile. “You just gave it all to your sister."He feels naked as Leonard's eyes scrutinise him intently. It's so confusing: Barry wants him to look away and at the same time  wants him to never look at anyone else again. He searches Leonard's look for emotions, trying to understand if he, too, feels what Barry is feeling, this overwhelming, irresistible urge to wrap Leonard into his arms and kiss him until it hurts.Leonard offers him a defiant half smirk."Most of it, I guess."Barry gulps. "Most, uh?” he says with a confidence he doesn't have. “Can I get my hopes up?"The subtle smirk on Leonard's mouth twitches in amusement. "Maybe. You're quite skinny, you don't look like you'd take up much space."ORLeonard gets injured while helping the Flash. Barry takes him home. They talk. Feelings ensue.
Relationships: (Eventual), (IMPLIED), Barry Allen/Leonard Snart, Barry Allen/Leonard Snart/Lisa Snart, Leonard Snart/Lisa Snart
Comments: 7
Kudos: 150





	A Box of Precious Things (Before the Hurricane Strikes)

**Author's Note:**

> From [this](https://incorrectquotesideas.tumblr.com/post/180349840720/person-a-to-person-c-would-you-like-to-stay-for) Tumblr prompt (which is also a Mulan reference... yay!)
> 
> Trigger warning: this work contains several mentions of blood and injury, and also mentions of child abuse. Proceed with care.

"Remind about this, next time I decide to play hero with you."

Barry laughs as he helps Snart sit down on a crate at the entrance of the safe-house. There are _a lot_ of crates in here; Barry decides to ignore them. It doesn't take a lot of imagination to guess what sort of stuff they contain, so it's best if he just pretends he never saw them at all.

"Are you moving?" he quips, looking around curiously. He reckons this is what safe-houses normally look like: bare, cold, impersonal. More like ware ouses than actual houses.

"We're always moving," says Snart with a faint groan of pain.

Barry pulls his Flash mask down and sighs. "I really wish you'd let me take you to a hospital."

This is not how he had imagined the night would turn out, but, considering the recent events, it could have gone worse. Captain Cold helping the Flash take down a meta isn't something you see every day, after all.

Snart looks down at the crumpled shirt he's pressing against his side: blood soaks it almost entirely.

"It's nothing. I can take care of it."

Barry wouldn't call a stab _nothing,_ but Snart must have different standards. The bleeding, at least, appears to have stopped.

"What do you need?"

Snart sits back against the wall, lets his head fall back. Despite his nonchalant act, his breath is fatigued and his forehead covered in a light sheen of sweat.

"There's a first-aid kit somewhere around here." He makes a vague gesture encompassing the piles of boxes cramming the entrance hall. None of those looks like a first-aid kit.

Barry spots a smaller cardboard box in a corner right next to the door. It looks older than anything else in here. It looks like something that _stays_ among things that come and go.

 _FRAGILE,_ it reads in big black handwritten letters.

"That?"

"My emergency box,” Snart pants, and it's not a very clear answer, but Barry takes it as a yes.

"Not that kind of emergency, though,” Snart adds when Barry fetches the box and hands if to him.

Barry catches a glimpse of something looking like shoes inside.

“What sort of emergency does this cover, exactly?”

Eyes closed, Snart stretches his pale lips into a slow smile.

“It's everything I can't leave behind when I need to bolt quickly and don't know when and if I'm coming back."

Curiosity creeps into Barry's fingers, making them itch as they linger over the unsealed flaps.

"Can I-"

He shuts up immediately, because it's both rude and quite stupid of him: why would Snart let him pry through his most personal belongings?

To Barry's utter surprise, however, Snart doesn't seem so bothered by this request. "Knock yourself out. It's full of old stuff, anyway."

Barry is about to dive into the box, eager like a child unwrapping a Christmas gift, when he remembers why he got to the box in the first place.

“You're hurt!” he exclaims, as if Snart didn't _know_ already. He's an idiot! "We need to take care of you first!"

For some reason, this makes Snart laugh. Very weakly and very painfully.

"Just get me the first-aid stuff,” he snorts. “I can look after myself."

"Doesn't mean you _have_ to," Barry retorts pointedly. He owes this guy big, big time, he's not going to let him down.

It takes a couple of tries, but Barry finally unburies the first-aid kit white case from a small mountain of what looks suspiciously like dozens of Rolex cases. Barry absolutely _didn't_ see them.

Snart throws the bloody shirt away and soaks some clean gauze with disinfectant to clean the wound, then asks Barry to pass him the needle and the thread. It takes Barry a couple of seconds to realise Snart is going to _suture_ himself.

He's done this before, obviously, because Barry would have trouble slipping the thread into the needle with two hands and a clear mind, while Snart is doing this one-handed, with a fresh gash in his side and not a hint of hesitation.

When Snart notices Barry's horrified expression he chuckles.

“What's that face, Scarlet?”

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Barry is torn between his fascination for the curved needle working, seemingly effortlessly, in and out of Snart's skin, and the shivers this sight causes him.

“This is pretty cold-blooded,” he remarks, more than a little pleased when the pun prompts a curl at the corner of Snart's mouth. “Even for you.”

Snart's fingers are coated in thick blood. His face barely shows any sign of pain.

“I learned how to stitch myself up before I learned to ride a bike"

_"What?"_

The ghost of the smirk on Snart's mouth takes a bitter shape. "My father was more preoccupied with teaching me more useful stuff like picking a lock or deactivating an alarm,” he says while he secures the final stitch. “I couldn't ride a bike until I was sixteen.” A brief pause. The smirk melts into a smile. “Lisa taught me."

"Wasn't she, like, _six?"_

"Yes, and an excellent teacher. Also very patient.” Snart meets Barry's eyes, shrugs. “Especially given her pupil's clumsiness."

He throws the needle back into the white case. There's died blood all over his torso and his jeans, some on the bench and on the floor, too. Snart doesn't seem to care. Without being asked, Barry zips to the bathroom and comes back with warm wet towel. He hands it to Snart, who takes it without a word and starts wiping himself clean.

"I can't picture you being clumsy."

Barry has no idea why he's saying this. Maybe it's the fact that Snart, somehow, can look elegant and sensual even sweaty and covered in blood. _'Clumsy Snart'_ feels like an awkward oxymoron, whichever the Snart it might refer to.

"You should have seen me on that bike," Snart jokes.

Barry wonders how they got to this, and when. From arch enemies to frenemies who help each other from time to time to... almost friends, it seems.

"Stolen, I bet?" he teases.

"Of course. We didn't have much, back then. We were more an annoyance than anything else to daddy dearest. Especially when he realised he couldn't use Lisa for his jobs."

Barry gapes. "He wanted to involve a six-year-year-old kid in his crimes?" A surge of protectiveness toward Leonard and Lisa makes his stomach twist in disgust.

"Yeah.” A series of creases form across Snart's forehead. “Didn't work out very well. Lisa used to suffer from panic attacks at that time. She was just seven the first time he brought her with him.” Snart's hand is resting over the wound in his side. His look is distant, almost hazy. “She couldn't do what he asked her, started panicking. He got mad.” The way his lips contract, just for a second, withholds so much hatred it rouses goosebumps all over Barry's skin. “When I came home, I heard her screams from outside."

Something like a cramp grabs the pit of Barry's stomach. He pictures this little girl – small, helpless – at the mercy of this monster's rage, and suddenly he wishes he had been the one to take Lewis Snart's life. It's very unlike him to have such dark thoughts, but he's starting to realise that perhaps Leonard's actions, however terrible, might have been justified. Iron Heights was Lewis's place, not his son's. Barry is glad the Legends cleaned up Leonard's name, after what he did – after he _died_ for the whole world.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, and it's lame, but what else can he say?

“Get me a beer, will you?” Snart begs, and Barry can't refuse. He fetches a beer from the fridge, opens it and hands it to Snart.

“How chivalrous,” Snart comments, making him blush.

Barry doesn't retort. He's not as clever as Snart at this sort of games; besides, he just remembered the other box – _FRAGILE._ He picks it up and sends Snart a questioning look. He doesn't want to intrude, but he also wants to see, to understand what really lies beneath this enigma of a man.

“Don't worry, Red,” Snart says, surprisingly softly. “There's nothing compromising in there.”

Barry hesitates. This feels more intimate than it should. It's just an old box, after all, but it's _not_ just a box, is it? Whatever is in it, it's what Snart hold dearest, all he can't live without. Letting Barry look into it means letting Barry look into _him._

Barry dips a hand inside. It's not full; the first thing he meets is something metallic. A pocket knife.

Snart grins nostalgically. "Mick gave it to me in juvie. It was right after he saved my ass, and possibly my life."

Barry's heard of this story before. He may not think they're thoroughly good people, but he respects the bond between Leonard and Mick, admires their mutual loyalty, despite everything they've been though.

The next thing he finds is ribbons. _Weird,_ he thinks, and when he lifts them he notices there's something attached to them. Something heavy that clinks as he pulls them out.

"Olympic medals?” His eyes go wide. “ _Gold?"_

Why would Snart keep such peculiar items? They have intrinsic value, of course, but stolen gold is to be sold off quickly, it's too compromising.

"Lisa's,” Leonard reveals. “She's a figure skating world champion."

He says it as if it's nothing, but Barry can see the gleam of pride in his eyes.

Lisa, an Olympic gold champion.

Who would have known?

"I guess that's the sort of thing a modest brother like you would forget to mention,” says Barry sarcastically. “So that's where your love for ice comes from?"

Leonard's eyes narrow. "Possibly."

Barry carefully sets the medals down; the next thing he fishes out is a t-shirt. It looks like a perfectly ordinary t-shirt, except for the brown stains scattered all over its front. Is it _blood?_

"What's this?"

"A memento of the first time I made my father spit blood.” There is a hue of perverse satisfaction in Leonard's tone. “He never forgot about that one. Unfortunately, neither did Lisa."

"What did he do to her?"

Snart looks away. The angry creases on his forehead are back. "Caught the wrong vein when he was trying to hit her with one of his bottles. I nearly lost her, that night.” He pauses to swallow and lick his lips. “I called Mick,” he continues, hands balled into fists. “We rushed her to the hospital. As soon as they told me she was gonna be okay, I went back home and beat the shit out of that son of a bitch. I split my knuckles to the bone but it was worth it. Made the bastard spit a few teeth. They're in there, somewhere." He nods toward the box.

Barry checks and finds a small bottle with a couple of incisors and a premolar. He knows human anatomy well enough to know it takes an awful lot of violence to knock teeth out of a grown man's mouth. He's actually surprised Leonard didn't kill his father straight away that very day.

He glances at Leonard and by the way Leonard glances back Barry realises he is wondering the exact same thing. He probably _regrets_ not killing Lewis, that day.

When Barry looks into the box, there are just two things left: a pair of tiny, battered ice skates and a picture: the most beautiful, clever-looking little girl he's ever seen.

"Lisa," he breathes, enchanted. She was ridiculously pretty, even so young: her eyes look even bigger on that little cheeky face, and golden hair falls in soft curls all along her back; her pose, holding a cup as big as her, makes her look even more adorable.

"Five years old,” says Leonard fondly. “Those skates are the first thing I've ever stolen."

It's the same pair of skates: the ones in the picture and the ones in the box.

Barry smiles. "That's... sweet."

It's touching that Leonard Snart's first crime ever was something as sentimental as a gift for his little sister. This says a lot about the depth of the bond between the two siblings.

"Lisa's passion for ice skating is the reason I started stealing in the first place," Leonard confesses. Barry looks at the picture more closely: the dress Lisa is wearing is sprinkled with crystals that shine under the lights and her hairdo looks very complicated.

"I guess it's a rather expensive career to pursue."

“She gave it up after I got myself in my first serious trouble. Not jail,” he stresses when he sees Barry frown. “Business with important people who could have easily killed me if the job had gone wrong.”

Barry wants to say something. He wants to tell Leonard he's starting to understand, that he can see what lead him where he is now and doesn't really blame him. He _tries_ to tell him but can't utter a sound.

"I didn't care about my guilt,” Leonard is saying, voice thin and wistful. “About the risk of being caught. I saw her smile and I knew it was worth it. As long as I could keep her happy, I was willing to pay any price. Besides,” his face darkens, loses its dreamy light. “It kept Lisa away from home for hours, sometimes days. I would have sold my own heart, if I'd had to."

One moment Barry is sitting on the floor, the next he's on the bench next to Leonard, looking at him as if he's seeing him for the first time.

"You did it to keep her safe."

Leonard nods.

The symbolism of the situation is almost funny: Leonard stripped beside him, wounded and vulnerable, allowing him to take a peak into his most intimate memories, and Barry with his mask down, unguarded, _at ease._ Captain Cold and the Flash have no part in this: this is just _them,_ Barry and Leonard, tentatively reaching toward each other like strangers discovering a connection.

"I don't think Lisa ever realised that,” whispers Leonard, staring at the picture in Barry's hands. “She was so young, so innocent... I just wanted her to be that sweet little girl forever.” He locks eyes with Barry with a bitter smile. “I didn't do a very good job, did I?"

Barry can see how genuinely Leonard believes that. But Barry knows Lisa – not very well, but well _enough_ – and, despite everything, she's a remarkable young woman. Flawed, as any other human being, and maybe a little manipulative, but remarkable nonetheless.

Barry playfully nudges him with his shoulder. "You did just fine,” he assures. “Lisa is too smart, anyway: you couldn't have preserved her innocence forever."

Apparently it's the right thing to say, because Leonard's bitterness slowly fades away. He casts a sideways glance at Barry and Barry's heart skips a beat. He's suddenly very aware of how close they are sitting and how little Leonard is wearing.

They've unconsciously been building up an aura of intimacy and Barry can feel it, warm and pleasant all around them. It's a little shock when he realises that this tug he feels toward Leonard is a _bond._

"She still thinks I'm the strong one,” Leonard sighs after a long silence. His hand brushes over the wound in his side, as if to stress that he's anything but infallible. That he's _vulnerable._ “Just because I took her away from that hell we used to call home. But the truth is that, without her, I would have given up fighting a very long time ago.” He doesn't need to say more: Barry perfectly gets the euphemism. It makes him shudder. “The few good things I've ever done – and also the worst, I guess,” Leonard says. “I've done for her."

The complete, disarming honesty in his tone reaches depths of Barry's soul where dormant feelings that he had carefully tucked away start stirring, awakened by Leonard's burning proximity and his candid admission.

It leaves Barry breathless and strangely moved to realise how much of Leonard's character was forged by his love for his sister. For some reason, Barry always believed Captain Cold was born out of nothing, just a thief among thieves, but what Leonard just told him brings context to facts whose perspective changes drastically, now: the ruthless criminal is just a thin, superficial layer concealing a much more significant truth. The story began with a young boy who was just trying his best to give his baby sister a glimpse of hope.

Everything, _everything_ Leonard cherishes is related to his sister. The one exception, of course, could only be be Mick.

It brings a small, bittersweet smile to Barry's lips: Leonard's whole life is right here, sitting in this dusty box covered in tape to keep it from falling apart. A box that says _FRAGILE_ even if there's nothing actually so easily breakable inside.

It feels like Barry is holding Leonard's heart in his hands.

He probably is.

He doesn't know how this makes him feel, to know that Leonard Snart would entrust him to touch and handle the most precious memories he has. It's a privilege. It's an honour. A sign of trust Barry didn't think he deserved, or, if he did, surely didn't expect Captain Cold to grant him, anyway.

And yet.

A spark of awareness makes him hold his breath: this _isn't_ Captain Cold. This is Leonard Snart – the _person,_ not the persona – showing him all of this, sharing bits of his history, letting him _in._ And Barry might not know what exactly this means, but it has to mean _something._

Barry is struggling to process what is happening when his attention falls to the corner where he found Leonard's emergency box.

"There's another one.”

This one, though still worn and dented, doesn't look half as bad as the first.

"Lisa's box."

"It's even smaller than yours."

Leonard smiles. "She's tougher than me."

“Or just younger,” Barry quips.

Leonard shakes his head. “We started together. I was just out of juvie. Me and Mick were planning to take her and run away. I told her we were going to play a game: we would pretend a hurricane was coming and we needed to leave very quickly. I gave her that box, told her she could get only the things she cared most about. What didn't fit into the box couldn't come with us.” His look softens. “I went back to her an hour later and the box was empty. _'I only need you, Lenny',_ she said."

A small, incredulous laugh escapes him. He shakes his head again; he leans on his elbows, entwines his fingers together, a thumb absently rubbing over the other. He stares at the ground for a long while, lost in thoughts Barry has no access to, but they're not hard to imagine.

Barry darts to Lisa's box and back.

"It's still empty,” he points out.

"There used to be stuff in it,” Leonard reveals. “Few small things she grew fond of over the years. She threw everything away after I... _returned."_

Barry can picture it, Lisa after her brother's death, collecting everything that reminded her of him and stuffing it into this tiny box with tears of grief and anger blurring her sight. How wonderful it must have been when she got him back. After all this time, her brother is still everything she needs.

This must be Leonard's stream of thoughts, too. He's watching Lisa's box nostalgically, shoulders tight and curved forward. _Guilt._

"Me and Lise,” he exhales. “We're a couple of old, broken things who lost some pieces along the way. We can't be whole without each other."

If Barry has known for a while how much this man cared for his sister, he certainly hadn't fully comprehended the extent of their closeness. This goes beyond a common blood tie: what they went through carved a mark into them, left a blank space they could only fill with each other.

"I think it's beautiful."

"No,” says Leonard firmly. “No, it's not. It makes us strong when we're together, but when we're apart...” He closes his eyes. “I will never forgive myself for abandoning her willingly."

Barry knows he's talking about the Oculus. He could tell him all the things he already knows – that he's a hero for what he did, that he saved the whole world – but it wouldn't make any difference. Barry gets what Leonard is trying to say: if he hadn't come back, if he had actually _died,_ he would have died knowing Lisa would never forgive him.

"If she'd had a choice, she would've died with me, and I probably would have let her. You see how fucked up this is?” Leonard tosses the picture back into the box at his feet, then turns to Barry. He looks and sounds so _angry._ “We're too... intertwined. We spent too long counting only on one another. We got so morbidly close over the years that it left little to no space to...” He faces away, almost shyly, then back at Barry, taking his breath away. “Let other people in."

Barry's pulse is racing. He feels drawn to Leonard to a point he needs to squeeze the edge of the bench to keep himself from doing things he would most positively regret.

"You let Mick in," he argues, and his eyes wander down, to Leonard's lips.

"And Mick, too, put my trust to the test a couple of times."

"So you and Lisa will never let anyone in again?"

It's a bold question. Barry is surprised of himself. Is he seriously flirting with Leonard? And when did he start thinking about Snart as _Leonard,_ anyway?

Leonard seems amused by his apparent distress.

"Who knows,” he drawls, and his eyes, too, lower to Barry's mouth. “Guess it'd take someone very pure of heart to change our minds."

All Barry knew – or _thought_ he knew – of this man is wrong, or largely inaccurate.

He was always a little smitten (or, admittedly, more than just a little) with the charming scoundrel with a quip always ready on his lips, but this Leonard... he's so much more complex and braver than the very idea of him that had charmed Barry in the first place, and this is bewildering and quite terrifying.

It was easy to pretend he didn't like Captain Cold until now. What he's just learned, though? It's such an easy slip down a path he's had a tentative foot on for a while but never dared to take because of doubts and complications and implications...

But how can he still lie to himself so shamelessly in front of such a genuine, open-hearted confession? How can he pretend that the warm feeling he's had about this man for a while now is setting roots so deep and strong into his heart that it's starting to _hurt?_

He looks at the Leonard Snart he's always known, now, and can't see the ruthless criminal he once saw. He can't see a thief, or a liar, or a traitor. He just sees a man who has spent a whole lifetime hiding behind a character he only created to give his sister a better life.

It's like an optical illusion: once you see through the trick, you can't unsee the truth. No matter how many times you blink or look away or try to unfocus: the illusion can't come back, you only see things are they are – as they've always been. You only see what you really need to see.

"You deceived me all along, Snart."

Leonard scowls. Barry feels him tense. "What?"

"You sell yourself as a heartless jerk, but you do have a heart. A pretty big one, too.” Barry shrugs with a coy smile. “You just gave it all to your sister."

He feels naked as Leonard's eyes scrutinise him intently. It's so confusing: Barry wants him to look away and at the same time wants him to never look at anyone else again. He searches Leonard's look for emotions, trying to understand if he, too, feels what Barry is feeling, this overwhelming, irresistible urge to wrap Leonard into his arms and kiss him until it hurts.

Leonard offers him a defiant half smirk.

"Most of it, I guess."

Barry gulps. "Most, uh?” he says with a confidence he doesn't have. “Can I get my hopes up?"

The subtle smirk on Leonard's mouth twitches in amusement. "Maybe. You're quite skinny, you don't look like you'd take up much space."

This is beyond Barry's self control. He doesn't know if it's possible to fall in love with someone because of their love for someone else, but this is what triggers him and this is what makes his heart burst when he grabs Leonard's face between his hands and kisses him like he's the only air he can breathe.

Leonard jumps from the unexpected contact, his reflexes too quick in alerting his body before the awareness of what is actually happening kicks in. For a horrible moment, Barry fears he's going to pull back; when he feels Leonard's arms around this waist, though, the fear vanishes, replaced by a rush of heat and arousal. He wants to slip his arms around Leonard, too, pull him closer, _feel him more,_ and it's painfully hard to remind himself that Leonard is wounded.

“It's okay,” Leonard whimpers as Barry's hand hovers upon his injured flank. He takes Barry's hand and guides it to his back, where it's safe to touch him, and Barry's head starts spinning. He's never touched a man like this and it doesn't feel like anything he's ever felt before. Not because Leonard is a man, but rather because what Barry is feeling right now... he's never felt like this for anyone.

“I don't know what I'm doing,” he pants, chasing Leonard's lips as he tries to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his neck.

“Neither am I,” Leonard pants back, and his hands are all over Barry, running across his suit desperate for contact, hungry for a patch on naked skin that they find only when they reach Barry's neck again.

Barry never hated his suit as much as he does right now. This is an unfairly unbalanced situation: Leonard is shirtless, at Barry's full disposal, and Barry is literally wrapped to his toes.

He doesn't know how he ends up on Leonard's lap, moaning without a shred of dignity as Leonard traces lines down his throat and sucks marks wherever he has access to.

“Why did you let me see you?” he whispers, his forehead leaning against Leonard's as they catch their breaths.

Leonard cups a hand around his neck. “Why did you look?”

“I knew it was worth it.”

The scoff Leonard lets out sounds a lot like a laugh.

He reaches out and seeks another kiss, which Barry is only happy to grant. When he tries to deepen it, though, Leonard gently pushes him back.

“Scarlet.” He stares sternly into Barry's eyes. He's never looked so vulnerable and _human_ before. “Lisa and me, we're a package deal-”

“I know-”

“No, you don't: you sign up for me, you sign up for her. I need to know you understand exactly what this implies, kid.”

There is a meaningful suggestion in Leonard's gaze, one Barry cannot possibly mistake. He tells himself that what Leonard is trying to tell him should bother him, or at least rouse some doubts, but the truth is he doesn't care. _At all._ It is also possible that this conversation made him develop some feelings for Lisa, too. He has no idea if it's possible to fall in love with someone _transitively,_ but he's all willing to find out.

"I understand."

"Is that okay?"

Barry nudges his nose over Leonard's with a chuckle. "I think it's kinda impossible to be into you and not into her. You're like two halves of the same person.” He scowls. “Is _Lisa_ okay with me, though?"

“You should ask her,” says Leonard mischievously. His look moves to a spot behind Barry's back, just for one second. Something shimmers in his eyes.

Barry can't tell if he's being teased or if Leonard actually knows something he doesn't.

"Now, isn't this the most sickeningly cute thing I've ever seen?"

Barry turns to the door, startled: Lisa is standing a few feet from them, hands on her hips and an insufferable, adorable smirk curving her red lips. He didn't ever hear the door open. Talk about stealth skills!

"Oh, uhm, er... hi, Lisa."

“Hi, Barry, _”_ she purrs. She gives Barry and Leonard a knowing once-over and winks. "Don't stop on my account, guys. I kinda like to watch."

Barry is quite positive he's as crimson as his suit.

“My god, Lenny, what's all this blood?”

“Long story,” Leonard sighs, sharing a glance with Barry.

“Good thing we've got the whole night, huh?” she retorts amiably, then proceeds to discard her clothes layer by layer as she heads to the kitchen.

Barry is paralised on Leonard's lap, still mildly aroused and a bit dismayed. It's going to take him a while to get used to these peculiar Snart dynamics.

“So,” Leonard taps Barry's chest as if nothing had happened. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Barry opens his mouth, but he's cut off by Lisa yelling from the kitchen:

"Would you like to stay forever?"

He groans and buries his face into Leonard's shoulder, laughing.

He guesses this pretty much settles everything.

**Author's Note:**

> I told you I had something a bit more serious than usual in store, and here it is. Sorry if it's a bit dark here and there, but I love Leonard and Lisa so much also because of these terrible things they had to go through in the past, and I really really wanted Barry to find out about this, too.
> 
> I hope you liked this even though it's not the usual humour-filled story. Let me know what you think!
> 
> P.S. I may not reply to your comments but I assure you I read and cherish every single one of them!


End file.
